Morocco Part 2 - The Desert

We continue our Moroccan journey driving east into the mountains, crossing over the highest peak in Morocco where we hear there is often snow and skiing (!) in winter.  Today the weather is simply beautiful, clear skies that stretch west all the way to the ocean and east into the desert.  It’s a long day of driving – 10 hours on the road – but broken up nicely by the obligatory stop at a rug shop and more and more tea.  We’re starting to move east into the desert though now, and the tea begins to change along with the climate.  Instead of the fresh mint tea of Marrakech the Berbers of eastern Morocco prefer a stronger, bitter brew, although still heavily sweetened with pounds of sugar.  Not quite as enticing, which by this point is definitely a good thing, considering that our “tea teeth” have already begun to ache and we’re still only halfway into the vacation.  As for the rug shop, we try to play the game for a bit, but in the end decide we just aren’t really that into Moroccan rugs, much to the consternation of our once very nice rug shop owner.  What we do find along the way, however, is some beautiful handmade pottery, including one large dish made specifically to hold couscous.  When we finally arrive in m’Hamid, where the road literally ends and the desert begins, the sun has just gone down, which means it’s time for another wonderful meal followed by live drumming.  At the small hotel it’s just us, a Brit, and a bunch of young Moroccans looking to escape Casablanca for a few days.  We’re all outdoors on a large rug when the Berber drummer first starts.  The young Moroccans, like young people everywhere, pretend to be way too cool for the drumming (this is a tourist thing after all) until they start to recognize a few tunes from their youth.  Heads start reluctantly bobbing, a little humming, and next thing you know it they’re teaching everyone the tunes that they so cherish.  Two hours later, after dancing crazily around the rug and howling out into the desert, it’s time to happily retire and prepare for tomorrow – the beginning of a four day trek into the depths of the desert.

The next day begins early and we soon meet our tour guides for the trek: Sloppy and Winchester.  We also have two Berber tour guides but it’s our camels that really make the first impression.  Winchester is a dignified fellow, although a bit uptight and reserved in that British way.  Sloppy – let’s just say that Sloppy doesn’t discriminate when it comes to finding a bathroom, nor does she ever brush her teeth.  As for our human guides, one is a bit aloof and business like, although he speaks a decent amount of French.




Our second guide speaks only a few words in French but has a constant smile stretched across his face and endears himself to us with his funnily

phrased reminders to take pictures (foto appareil!) and look at the sunset (couche du soleil!).   So camels…not comfortable.  But we’re on a camel trek and decide to make the most of this opportunity to ride camels and spend two hours the first day between the humps.  By the second day we’ve decided that really just one hour a day on the camel is definitely enough to get the full experience and gives our backsides a well needed opportunity to “recover.” 

Trekking in the desert is actually a pretty restful activity and gives us a much needed opportunity to breath in fresh air and relax.  The day’s
schedule is as follows; wake up with the sunrise and a nice breakfast of bread, fruit, and tea.  Hike until about noon on a surface that closely resembles the moon’s and then find a shady tree to wait out the hottest part of the day.  As we spread out under the shade tree and read “Hunger Games” to each other, our human guides are busy at work preparing a gourmet Moroccan meal.  Seriously, even in the desert, you eat good here.  Lunch starts with the obligatory Moroccan salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, and onions, followed by a lentils dish and then heavily spiced meat.  We’re a two day hike from a 10 hour drive to civilization and we’re still eating fancy…amazing!  Around 3 pm we set back out on foot and hike until just before nightfall.  Under an incredibly bright moon we set up the tent and settle in for another amazing meal as our camel guides relax and Sloppy’s gas finally starts to abate.  She’s lovely. 

One incredible highlight: Desert Bread.  I know you won’t believe me but this is how it works.  Foto appareil guide has secretly mixed water, flour, and yeast together and let the dough rise as we walked (not on his back, that’s a different story).  He starts a raging fire, digs out a shallow hole in the sand, flattens the dough, and places the dough in the hole.  Cover it with sand, throw the coals on top, and wait 10 minutes.  Remove the coals, uncover the dough, flip it, recover with sand, and replace the coals on top.  10 minutes and uncover the dough.  At this point you have sandy bread.  Hold the bread up and pound it with your hand to remove the sand.  This actually works, and what you are left with is an incredibly delicious bread (not sandy) cooked in the ground.  When you think about it, it’s actually just like the original BBQ – get a hog, dig a hole, bury the hog and cover it up, put the coals on top, and wait – but absolutely amazing that this works and does not leave you with a sandy taste in your mouth.  Next time you’re at the Jersey shore give it a try. 

 As with most things, the journey is as memorable as the destination.  After three days and 50 km, we finally arrive at the Erg-Chigagga dunes.  They’re beautiful – really ski mountains of sand – that you can climb up and roll down for hours.  We spend a beautiful sunset just resting on the top of the dunes, gazing out in to the endless desert and appreciating the enormity of it all.  Looking back though, it is the trek – the hours spent walking or riding – and the time under our shade trees that really stands out.  The perfect way to relax, recuperate, and rejuvenate the soul. 

Morocco Part 1 - Casablanca & Marrakesh

Wanna smell my Moroccan

spices? Um... yes!

Four months of hard work and it was time for a little vacation... there are few direct flights from Ouagadougou to anywhere, but luckily, there is one to Morocco. Many of you have probably heard Josh's famous pick-up line from when we first met, "Want to come over to my dorm room and smell my Moroccan spices?" Needless to say it worked... and wow, those spices smelled good! Ever since, Josh has been promising to take me to this magical place where he bought all those delicious spices and finally we made it. We started our journey in Casablanca where we got to visit Max and Brooke, some friends who work at the Consulate. They were kind enough to offer for us to stay with them, and hanging out with them was one of the highlights of the trip. We didn't know them that well before we went, and as it turns out, they are two of the coolest people we know. We didn't stop laughing the whole time, but I'll have to save the story about the sconce salesman from Wisconsin for another post...

Mint tea, so goooood... until your teeth
 start to feel like they're going to fall out from
 all the sugar (but that takes a few days).

My first impression of Casablanca was "we are in Europe." This may have something to do with perspective, coming from Ouagadougou, but seriously, Casablanca is a very modern, very clean, quite bustling city. Max and Brooke's neighborhood is filled with cute cafes, trendy boutiques, and fashionable people.

We spent our first full day in Casablanca hanging out at the beach and reading. Then on Saturday Josh went to Temple for Yom Kippur services (I'll let him blog on that), and I went to the hammam. The hammam is not something I would recommend for the modest. That being said, I've heard there are tourist oriented hammams that offer a bit more privacy. But for really traditional hammaming, its a giant public bath - men and women are in separate rooms - where you go in and scrub down whoever's sitting next to you... I wasn't that hard core, but I did go to a very Moroccan hammam all the same, since I was the only non-Moroccan there. At the hammam I went to, a women was assigned to "hammam"-me, and I didn't even have to scrub her in return!  The receptionist spoke French, but once I got back into the bath area, I had to make do with hand gestures and interpretive dance. Kadija  (or at least that's as close as I got to understanding her name) was assigned to be my hammam lady. Which means she motioned for me to put all my clothes in a bag which she then took away from me, and then she led me down to the washing room. It was an all marble steam room with about 6 beds lined up and women lying down and being scrubbed up and down. At different parts of the process Kadija would splash me with buckets of water, fold me into different positions on the marble table and exfoliate the bejesus out of my skin. Kadija had no mercy on a bit of runner's rash I had suffered; it got scrubbed all the same. At one point she had me turned over and was pointing at my lower back and yelling something across the room in Arabic. Somehow, I don't think she was saying, "look how sweet, a little snowflake tattoo." When she was done, she proudly motioned for me to look at all the skin, dead or alive, she had extirpated from my body. The experience felt good the way a dental cleaning does. Would I do it again? Absolutely!

The winding little alley that led down to our riad. Following our adventures in Casablanca, we continued on to Marrakesh.  We took the train, it's roughly a 3-5 hour trip... during which one man in our cabin spent half the time watching muslim prayers aloud (no headphones) on his laptop. There were boys running up and down the hall way the entire trip, mostly singing, sometimes fighting. Upon arriving in Marrakesh, we learned that it was the vesper of a national soccer match, Morocco-Tanzania. The city, usually a bustling tourist hotspot, was taken over by patriotic Moroccans.  Rooftop terrace at Riad Reves d'Orient - this is where we had breakfast everyday We stayed at a riad (Arabic for bed and breakfast) in the medina (within the old city walls). The riad we stayed at was run by a team of young Moroccans, all in their twenties. We spent one afternoon hanging out in the kitchen for an impromptu cooking class. Couscous, Tagine, Salade Morocaine... Basically, Josh helped cook the dinner that was served to all the guests in the riad that night.  After the class we enjoyed a wonderful meal (prepared by Josh of course) on the rooftop and then were treated to a belly dancing show downstairs by our cooking buddies/hotel staff!  Needless to say, after an evening of cooking and belly dancing together, it's hard not to become close, so we were delighted when, after a week of trekking in the desert, we were greated back in Marrakesh like old friends.  Marrakesh by night - the main square. The main square in the old medina is a bustling place with all kinds of wonders happening at every step. The stands right in the center are filled with fresh squeezed orange juice, fresh picked dates, almonds, sweets and a myriad of other foods. Around the center are shops selling a sampling of trinkets, but the real goods are found deeper in the medina alleyways in the souks (each market, or souk, is dedicated to a different good: leather, pottery, silver, etc.). And mixed in with the food and stands are story-tellers, snake charmers, drum circles, and clowns. It's hard to explain how much is all going on at once in the square. It's glorious madness. We sat up on a rooftop restaurant eating pastilla (meat filled pastry deliciousness), tagine, and couscous as the snakes danced below us and thousands of Moroccans celebrated their victory over Tanzania.   Of course we bought a tagine, for more of Josh's famous "volcano chicken."   Don't worry, we took an empty suitcase on the trip just for pottery! The culinary delights were almost overwhelming. Marrakesh by day was as much of a party as by night, which was in large part due to it being game day. Soccer fans paraded through the street, dancing, singing and getting ready for the big night. We spent the day wandering through the souks and scoping out the goods before we dove head first into Moroccan bargaining - an adventure more daunting than the hammam. Merchants will start out with a outrageously high price for any item and you are expected to respond in kind with an offer offensively low. From there you work your way to a middle point that is supposed to be the closest thing to reasonable possible.   If you've never been, the best way to describe Marrakesh is like this...close your eyes, channel your inner Aladdin, and imagine the busy streets of Agrabah, Princess Jasmin flying her magic carpet, and a precocious monkey attempting to steal whatever is in your pocket! From Marrakesh off we went to the desert, so stay tuned for our next post, Morocco part deux...





Ok, right off the bat, we should apologize...it has taken way too long to publish our first blog posts, but as this is our first blogging try, we get a little slack.  Now that that's out of the way, I'll try and get you up to speed on our lives here in West Africa.  Aside from the motos (which you can read about in the other post), the first thing I noticed when I stepped off the plane in Africa was an American flag...seriously!  When you come off the plane there is a little shuttle that picks up all of the passengers for transport back to baggage claim.  And hanging from the rearview mirror of the shuttle was an American flag air freshener.  Talk about a warm, sweet welcome!  As this was our first experience in Africa, we were very curious as to how America would be viewed here, and we could not have been more pleasantly surprised.  Not a day goes by that we don't see a young kid walking down the street in an Obama t-shirt or those wonderful little air fresheners hanging from rearview mirrors.  Politics aside (because most people here are not that interested in US politics), having someone that they can identify with as President of the US has really energized US support in Africa.  In fact, Kelly even heard a speech recently where the local speaker implored the audience to do a little research into Obama's policies so that they could love him for what he does, and not just because of who he is.  Whatever it is, we feel very welcomed here and the African guide books certainly do not exaggerate when they say that the Burkinabe are the nicest people in Africa.  Mostly because of their hospitality, this has been a relatively easy transition.  We have started to find a nice group of friends made up of Americans, Europeans, North Africans, Burkinabes, Africans, Asians, and everyone in between.  Even Farofa (or "Randolph" if you are our maid) could not be happier.  She loves playing in the backyard near the garden, barking at the guard, and has even ventured to the edge of the pool (she is still way too scared to jump in).  

Some highlights:  The first few weeks were very much about figuring how the embassy works and where one buys food, what one does for fun, and where one goes out to eat.  It is a little hard to describe (maybe the pictures will help) but this city is like none we have ever seen before.  Just not built the way we are used to, so you could easily drive by the nicest restaurant in town without even recognizing that there was anything there.  That, and navigating through the motos, were the biggest challenges at first.  When you first arrive here you basically just have what you brought with you in your suitcase, so not much.  The other things start to arrive 1-4 months later, depending on the shipping situation in Togo or the flight schedule of Air France, so you quickly become very used to living without much.  It turned out to be a nice lesson though, in that we really discovered that we don't need all that much to be happy.  We're not complaining that everything arrived reasonably quickly, of course, but it was very comforting to find out that we can be perfectly happy without all of the trappings we've accumulated over time. 

We'll include some pictures so you can get a good idea, but the most incredible/terrifying experience here was when we sat on/rode crocodiles.  Some background...the Burkinabes consider crocodiles sacred, believing that throughout history both crocodiles and humans have saved each other’s lives so that there now exists a sort of detente between the two species.  So for a "nas'arah" (white person) that means you have the opportunity to go to the local watering hole (just 30 minutes outside of town), hire a guide for an hour, and go out to meet the crocs.  Your friendly guide (CPR and first aid certified I'm sure) goes to the water's edge and brings out the largest croc he can find with a big stick...by large we're talking 12 footers here.  The idea is that you also purchase a live chicken at the park entrance to feed to the crocs.  You feed them the chicken, the crocs love you, and then they let you sit on them for a minute or so.  Well the day we went, they ran out of chickens.  So here we are, playing the role of chicken, as 20 crocs slowly make their way out of the lake and up onto the shore.  The friendly guide assures you that these crocodiles are indeed sacred and just don't eat humans, so why don't you come over and sit on one.  As he says this, the other 19 or so crocs begin to take an interest in their guests and start to form a circle around you.  So you timidly walk over to the largest croc (you don't want to be called chicken, lest the crocs think you really are one) and do this sort of fearful squat thing where you bend your legs over the croc, force a smile for the camera, and the guide pushes you down even further onto the croc, saying "tu n'es pas assez proche!" (you're not close enough!)  TERRIFYING!  Needless to say, we made it and will certainly bring any and all of our guests to visit the sacred crocodiles when they visit...who's coming first?!

As for other wildlife, we have had the opportunity to take a canoe into a hippo lake and see a young hippo at play from about 30 feet away.  In our backyard we have the most incredible lizards and geckos, brightly colored and so sticky that they can hang upside down over the patio as you swing in the hammock.  We were also here for Ramadan, which was a very interesting experience for us.  We can now definitively say that the dates from Tunisia, Burkina, Egypt, and Morocco don't hold a candle to fresh Algerian dates.  One of the most beautiful things about this country is the level of religious tolerance that we've seen.  The country is about split between Muslims and Christians, with about 20-40% of the population also following Animist religions.  Maybe it’s because there has been so much intermarrying or because so many people already believe in two faiths, but I have never seen such appreciation and respect for other religions.  Burkina might be a little behind in development, but when it comes to religious tolerance the rest of the world could definitely learn a lesson from our friendly Burkinabes. 

So, just a small taste of our lives so far...we promise to write more often and paint a more complete picture of everything that we are experiencing here.  We have a lot to look forward to this month...a visiting Tenor from the Paris Opera Company, our first horseback riding lesson, and our first vacation...a trip to Morocco!  On top of that, the raining season should be drawing to a close, which means the best weather of the year is not far behind.  We do miss all of you (and America) very much.  Watching college football last weekend definitely brought up bittersweet memories of autumn in America...the chill of autumn and pumpkin picking here just won't be the same.  All are welcome to visit and we hope to see as many of you as possible here riding our crocodiles in the next two years!        

The first thing you notice driving down the street in Ouaga (as called by the locals, pronounced "wa-ga") is motos (mopeds). They are everywhere and come from any and all directions. The main streets have separate moto lanes, which by no means stops motos from coming through the car lane in the wrong direction. This picture is a great example of your average moto rider with (1) no helmet, and (2) a baby wrapped on her back. It is seriously impressive the gracefulness with which the Burkinabes (particularly the women) ride their motos, always with perfect posture, and able to comfortably tie a baby on, or carry things on their heads (yes, also while on a moving moto), or strap any number of live animals (usually chickens, and sometimes also a goat here and there) to the moto itself. Motos are not limited to any particular group. Everyone rides motos from businessman in suits to young couples dressed up and ready for date night, and families in their Sunday best to your average fruit stand merchant with a large boxes of produce tied on.